Glory and Gore
by I'm Miss World
Summary: Athelstan comforts the young shieldmaiden who would have married Bjorn had he stayed. Having spent much time with the priest, and losing everything she holds dear, Brita struggles to maintain her faith in the gods, which Athelstan notices, pleased to see he is not alone. But some of the Northmen feel he is poisoning her mind, and worst, what will Bjorn think when they are reunited?
1. I

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Vikings_.

**A/N: **Be merciful on the Norwegian accents. To me, it sounds almost German, but they don't really seem to drop many letters, rather add some. So I did what I could. I hate when accents aren't written, so here goes nothing. In love with this show. In love with those men. In love with this plot. Starts at the beginning after Athelstan has become the slave of Ragnar. PS, doesn't that OC totally look like she could be Erik's daughter? Lol I saw it and I was like, holy crap, perfect.

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**Glory and Gore**

**I**

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"Iz that your priest?"

Bjorn looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes, turning back to the girl who had a curiously raised eyebrow as the monk busied himself with gathering firewood a short distance away where the two young novice warriors readied themselves for their lesson with Lagertha. He was unaware of the conversation going on, having only arrived a few moons ago with his… master, Ragnar Lothbrok

"Yes, that iz him. Father brought him from the west. He iz our slave." The young blonde boy smirked then, knowing his friend would have fun with the next bit of information. "He iz also a Christian."

"A Christian?" the girl wondered, looking skeptical, as though the boy was teasing her. Though she was older by a few years, he had a knack for pulling the wool over her eyes on many frequent occasions, frustrating her, the hot headed thing she was, and generally making him pay for it when they met to spar.

"Go and azk him." The young man prompted, knowing that the monk would be intimidated by her, and feeling as though he was not quite ready to accept the slave into his father's household, though Ragnar did seem somewhat fascinated by him and his religion.

When Brita did nothing more than look in the newcomer's direction, Bjorn mocked her, aware her honor was something she took very seriously. "If you do not believe me, go! He speaks our language," the boy urged his friend. When she hesitated still; he teased her, believing she wouldn't allow her face to get any redder with suppressed cursing and possibly a few lashings with the flat side of her blade. Still, he continued. "Are you scared? Of a Christian priest? Odin is laughing at you right now."

"I am scared of no man, certainly not some stupid priest!" She must have said it louder than she'd meant, because the person in question looked their way, timidly, having understood the girl's outburst. He didn't know whom she was to the family he'd become a slave to, but something told the man she would be trouble for him.

The blue eyes of the monotheist watched cautiously as her footsteps patterned in his direction, her stride long and seemed to make her much more intimidating than she probably would look without that confidence. It was clear she was of a younger age, certainly older than Bjorn and Gyda, but not by much.

Dressed in obvious combative garb, it was hard to tell how big she actually was, the fur of her long vest disguising her body as broad and wide. Her legs seemed long, like the straight, golden tresses that fell all the way down to her waist in a sleek curtain. And though she looked as though she may be skinny, there was no doubt to him she was strong by the fierce stare in her stormy gray eyes, ones that seemed almost familiar.

Athelstan stood up straight as she stepped close to him, his back bending to keep a distance between them, one that made him feel at least a little safer. This apparent shieldmaiden seemed to be sizing him up for a reason unbeknownst to him.

"I am not scared of you Priest, or your Christian gods." She had her weapon at the ready, startling the poor man before her, who had never fought anyone in his life. Never before had a woman stricken fear into him this way, not even Lagertha, who seemed to be much like her, though not so aggressive.

"Brita, he iz no competition for you! Come here and fight a real fight." Spinning quickly, Brita saw the familiar smirk of Ragnar Lothbrok, wielding a battle-axe, doing some fancy handwork to make the maneuvering eye appealing. Unable to deny the honorable request and opportunity to fight with the man her father, and her whole family, including herself, pledged their allegiance to. One who was considered to be a best in the land, if not the sole holder of the title.

Again though, the monk found the steel eyes of the girl back on him before she pulled her hand from the hilt of her sword, doing as Ragnar had instructed and racing over to him, ready to spar with her superior. Not every woman was honored enough to be able to go on the summer raids, and fight alongside the warriors of her people, but she had been assured that once her father deemed her ready, she would be allowed to fight under the command of Ragnar, a soldier of her lands and servant of Lord Odin just like her father and brother.

Bjorn chuckled as Athelstan made his way over to him, looking quite stunned still. "Who is that?" he questioned, praying this wasn't a sister just returning from somewhere, and that he wouldn't have to see her continuously. Though he was unsure as to what he'd done to elicit such a predatory response from the female, but he was sure he hadn't done anything to her other than exist in her presence, and to him, that indicated this would likely be an ongoing interaction between them.

"Her name is Brita. She iz the daughter of Eric Marteinn. I am sure you could not forget him." The words triggered a memory of the day the ship had landed in these lands, the blonde-haired behemoth in question one of the more memorable members of the army that had invaded his home, being one of the first Athelstan had met, and also, because he was a monster of a man. He could picture the girl running into the arms of him as he stepped off the boat, then jumping on the back of her brother, Leif, one of the others, also a giant. It was clear where the girl had gotten her demeanor now. "Mother says she should be my wife one day." Bjorn kind of chuckled at his own joke, thinking the idea a little ridiculous at his age now. Though he felt like a man, and had even been acknowledged as one by his father, his _hero_, he was not ready for girls and the things they came with, the responsibilities of a family. The things having a woman meant in their society. He would be a warrior first, like his Uncle Rollo, ruthless and savage on the battlefield during the raids, bringing home mountains of treasures, and able bodied slaves. Then maybe he would take a wife. He would _need_ to have sons eventually, after all. And he knew any children that came from he and Brita would be strong, a born warrior with a place in Valhalla already reserved for him though

"Well, she's quite an angry girl. Good luck with that," Athelstan said offhandedly, amazed to see her charging at his master with her blade, Ragnar hardly able to dodge the attacks half the time she was so quick, though he laughed as he evaded her, exuberated to see such a fierce young shieldmaiden his wife had maintained a large part in training while he had traveled west. He looked forward to the day her father stopped postponing her debut on an actual battlefield, intent on protecting his beautiful young girl as long as he could. Ragnar looked forward to the day she would fight alongside him, sure she would be a force to be reckoned with the same way Eric was, and her brother Leif as well. Having no sisters, and preferring to fight and hunt with the men of her household instead of stay home and do the cooking and fishing with her mother and grandmother, she had been catching up to the men her whole life, and it finally seemed she was almost ready.

Bjorn laughed, a little bit of a sneer almost on his face. "She smells your weakness Priest. You are like a fish in a barrel. All men fight here. And you, well…" Bjorn had not quite decided how much he liked this foreigner yet, so keeping him on his toes was amusing him. "You will have to learn to fight someday."

Athelstan watched as the boy pushed himself from the woodpile he'd been leaning on, watching the slave work as opposed to assisting, and trotted over to the duel, pulling his sword from the sheath and getting in on the action.

Though they were the words of a child, they had frightened him, the sickening feeling that sat in the pit of Athelstan's stomach telling him Bjorn was right, and if he were to be stuck here as a slave, perhaps the only way to survive in this world would be to fight eventually.

"My Lord, give me a sign," he prayed, quietly, closing his eyes for a brief moment and clutching his cross pendant.

There must be a reason he was here, enduring this. He just needed a sign.


	2. II

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Vikings._

**A/N:** The accent was annoying me, so I definitely dulled it down a lot. I edited bits and pieces of the first chapter to, fine-tuned it. I'm glad you all like this story so much! I'm thinking about a Rollo one too but I haven't gotten a clear idea yet. It'll come to me though, it always does. Thanks for the reviews! I promise Brita will not be so aggressive this whole story, she truly is just young and trying to keep up with the boys at this point.

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**Glory and Gore**

**II**

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"How old are you?" Athelstan had avoided speaking or interacting with the young shieldmaiden that seemed to spend about as much time with this family as she did with her own. That may have been why she'd acknowledged him at all, Brita looking startled to hear him speak in her native tongue finally. Bjorn had told her so, but she'd yet to hear the monk do anything but shudder at her blade.

When the question had slipped out, he'd been tending to the chickens in the yard while she tended to her blade, breaking to greedily slurp water every once in a while, on a bench in front of the barn, gifted to Ragnar by the strange shipmaker Floki many moons ago. Bjorn had gone off to fish with both his father and hers for the day, and she had instead opted to help her mother Ellisef before arriving at the home of the Lothbrok's and seeking lessons from Lagertha.

And she'd had just that. The older woman had worked Brita ragged, not giving her an inch of room to breathe or think as Lagertha came at her with what likely was not even everything she had. It was both a frightening and fascinating sight, to see woman wielding the weapons of men, and just as well. He'd heard tales of female knights in his own homelands, but he'd never seen such brutality come from the fairer sex when he'd discretely watched them as he worked. The ferocity in which Brita fought back with, for such a young looking thing, made him wonder why he had not seen her among the other warriors on the raid in the first place.

And Brita was apparently too tired to quip rudely back at him, as he'd expected her to, since she had only mocked and ridiculed him from afar until this moment. Or maybe she was all bark with no bite. Either way, she disinterestedly returned to the task of polishing her weapon and answered him shortly. "Fifteen."

"And you fight alongside grown men?" Athelstan inquired, unable to help himself. The young man was hardly used to the idea of fighting at all, even when it came to men, let alone women, and one so young as Brita. He had lived in peace for so long before Ragnar, Eric and Leif had discovered him that fateful day in the monastery.

"I wvill. Not yet though. Father sayz I am too young, and reckless." Brita wouldn't ever dare challenge a ruling of any sort from her father, but that didn't stop them from severely frustrating her, and that was obvious in her tone. It wasn't fair; she was better than anyone else her age, boy or girl. She'd even gotten the best of Leif many times despite how much bigger and stronger her brother was. Brita truly believed she should be invited to raid. But no, again, she was left to defend their home, as Eric and Ragnar liked to put it to make her feel better. It didn't work. She belonged raiding. It was all she'd ever wanted to do, fight alongside her father and her brother. Now especially, all these new unexplored western lands an obvious option.

"Are you not scared?" Athelstan couldn't grasp having no fear of death. From her face, he could see she most certainly craved the chance to see battle overseas. Was she prepared to die when she was so young?

And her response to that _really_ intrigued him then. "Of what?" The way in which Brita had reacted as she'd replied made him certain she really did not understand what there was to fear at all.

Athelstan paused a moment, wondering if there was a milder way of addressing it, but all that came from between his lips was one word. "Death." It seemed certain for these people of the north, the way they just savagely cut people down to get to treasure, venturing into lands they did not know. Would it not be inevitable that one day, they would meet an army greater than their own?

The expression on her face was one of both amusement and pity for his naivety. Somehow, it was not what he was expecting, though he had already pegged her as fearless. "Why would I fear death? There is honor in death. If you fall in battle, Odin will surely smile upon you at the gates of Valhalla." Then her brow creased, wondering why she was even bothering to entering the slave. "No, I do not fear death, or anything else. You will never see me beg for my life. Not like you did, Priest." Leif had entertained her with a story about how he and their father had been there when Ragnar had come upon his new slave, hiding like a scared little boy.

Realizing her brief moment of vulnerability that had allowed him to investigate was now gone, Athelstan said nothing else, though the bravery of such a young girl both frightened and yet, impressed him. But he was left pondering if she were actually brave, or just young and ignorant to the realities of actually killing and dying?

Tonight, the monk would pray for her.

The point of a sword poking him in the rump from behind startled Athelstan. Spinning, he found Brita with her blade aimed at him yet again. She enjoyed the sense of power it gave her, the fear it created in his eyes, tohugh he tried to cover it more this time than the last.

"And what of you Priest? Does your god teach you to fear the blade? Would he have you beg me not to slice right through you?" Bjorn had told her all he had heard of Christ and the only 'God' these Christians worshiped. Immediately, the girl had deemed it stupid, uninterested in such an absurd idea from the beginning.

Athelstan's words came quick, though his eyes did not move from the pointy end of the sword in her hand. "Why do you want to kill so badly?" He thought she seemed particularly vicious, much the same way he saw Ragnar's massive brother, Rollo.

She laughed at him, as though he were an idiot for asking. "It isn't the killing Priest. What do you think I am? A monster?" Her eyes flickered with something like delight, almost as if she hoped he would answer yes. But the priest disappointed her, shaking his head no instead.

"I think… you are still very young." It was the least offensive thing he could think to say. And he must have struck lucky today, because she relaxed her weapon.

With a roll of her eyes, Athelstan returned to a more comfortable posture, though the blade still sat in her hand, and he was sure it could be right at his throat in the blink of an eye. "Tell me, what kind of God would praise you to just roll over and die? Would he not want you to fight for the life you say he gave you?" These men having been so pathetic and defenseless almost astonished her. It had been like taking from babies, as her father had said.

Swinging her sword around in her hand as if it were nothing but a stick, not worried she would accidentally slash some part of her of his body, she mindlessly intimidated him yet again, his body unconsciously moving just a step away from her, hoping she hadn't noticed.

"I could kill you now, if I wanted to. And no one would stop me. No one would cry for you. And you would not die with the honor of a warrior. You would die frightened and begging your god for mercy he does not control." Ceasing her fancy bladework, she again pointed it at him, though much lazier than aggressive this time. Brita watched his face for a long moment, holding his eyes until he looked away, then almost caressing his chin with the flat side of her blade, the cool metal searing his skin as he kept his jaw form trembling by clenching his teeth together hard. "I bet your throat would slice, like butter. Just one quick—"

"_Please_," he cut off, not quite sure what her consequences would be for killing him in cold blood. Or if there would be any at all. Surely, he was some type of heathen to them all, just as they would be to his people. And these Northmen, well, they were barbaric, and he wouldn't be surprised to hear she'd received nothing more than a slap on the wrist simply for damaging another's property. Ragnar's family seemed very fond of her. There was something crazed in this girl's eyes that left him unsure of whether she actually would harm him or not. Desperately, he tried to defend his worth here. "They need me on the farm."

Her head fell back as she laughed, and it would have been pretty had it not been this subject matter. "You are a slave. You tried to have your way with me, and I defended myself. And just like that, you are gone, erased from our world. No one to celebrate you or miss you. No chance of entering Valhalla. Just… dust." Athelstan knew her lie would prove reason enough for anyone here to forgive her slaughter of him, and their lives would go on without question. He didn't know how to reply to that idea. That wasn't something he wanted at all, to be forgotten the minute his final breath passed through his lips.

However, her reason t have killed him did have one tragic flaw. "Ragnar would know… I am a monk. I would not attempt rape because I've sworn a vow of celibacy."

"A what?" she asked incredulously, no idea what he was referring to.

"I cannot touch a woman… _ever_." Somehow, it was humiliating to admit to the girl, even more so than when he'd had to reject Ragnar and Lagertha's invitation into their bedroom nights prior.

Stunned for a moment, she quickly revealed she found that hilarious, her demeanor relaxing with her laughter. As it calmed, she attempted to speak. "So _monk_, your god not only wishes you to die a coward… but a virgin too? He would have you sonless, never knowing the warmth of a woman's womb?"

"No." He pondered what she said though he answered quickly. When she put it that way, it seemed much worse. He had never pictured himself with a wife or family, simply because it hadn't been an option most of his life.

"Your god, is no fun." Her sword was still aimed in his direction, but he felt she was just holding it there unconsciously now, intimidating him a far off memory since she could now tease him about this aspect of his worship. "And your hair looks horrible."

"Brita!" the rumbling voice of her father seemed to scare her more than any battleaxe coming at her would, her defenses quickly up as she whipped her head around to see Eric standing there with Bjorn and Ragnar, all clearly finding the situation amusing by the smirks on their lips. Her sword was quickly hidden behind her back, though each of them had seen her trying to hide it. Athelstan had not been the first slave she had harassed, though she had never actually gone through with any of her threats to hurt them. It was the power she found exhilarating, not the violence.

"Play nice," Ragnar warned her, his smile widening as he chuckled before the men continued on to bring Lagertha the spoils of their fishing trip.

Once she was sure they were out of earshot, she put her sword down and rolled her eyes at the monk, who was relieved he would not have to endure this torture anymore today now that Ragnar was back, Brita likely about to roughhouse with Bjorn until food was cooked and Leif came with Ellisef to join them for dinner with the Lothbrok's.

"It iz not the killing. It iz the glory; the victory. There is just not one without the other. And I am ready for glory."

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